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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23805826">Lines, Curves and Tangents</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Shouldnt_Be_Here/pseuds/I_Shouldnt_Be_Here'>I_Shouldnt_Be_Here</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan (2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Angst, Author believes friendships are important, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Consent is Sexy, Eventual Romance, Fluff, I got translations, Its the city peeps, M/M, Maybe a little fluff?, Romance, Slow Romance, Two Shot, Use of Hinglish dialogues</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 00:48:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,980</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23805826</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Shouldnt_Be_Here/pseuds/I_Shouldnt_Be_Here</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Aman realises how suffocating life in the big city can get. But sometimes, if you are lucky enough, you find friends that care and a lover who never abandons. Two unlikely individuals meet in the city of Mumbai.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kartik Singh/Aman Tripathi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>64</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Bitter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monamoni/gifts">Monamoni</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tinevisce/gifts">Tinevisce</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/gifts"></a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So basically this is my bittersweet love letter to the city of Mumbai. Enjoy the ride!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Bhaisaab aap dekh kar chaliye na!” (</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mind your foot!)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Aman raised a foot which was painfully trampled by a passenger.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aap paer uss taraf kar lete!” (</span>
  <em>
    <span>You should have done that!)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>This one clearly loved picking up a fight.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Theek hai.” (</span>
  <em>
    <span>Okay.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> Aman turns himself to the side, wedging himself between a man’s black pants and another man’s pointy laptop bag. He holds on to the shiny metal grille beside the exit.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Finding a seat in rush hour was next to impossible. He often thought that the people occupying the seats grew on the roof of the train and plopped down like fruits of a bountiful, inconvenient tree.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The rabble-rouser visibly deflates after Aman’s withdrawal. His face turns downward, upset at being denied a fight. Aman’s foot hurt and he bit his tongue to keep from lashing out.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The local trains could easily classify as Mumbai’s largest contradiction. </span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Here you could find so many bodies crushed up together yet each of them was their own separate island. Irretrievably distant, each huddled over a screen with earphones. A child was often present to break the </span>
  <em>
    <span>homogeneity</span>
  </em>
  <span> of it all. But you soon realised that the mental framework and the physical skeleton of all the people were alike, this time it was only two feet shorter.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Rush hour made a contortionist of everyone. He was lucky that he had to spend only an hour in the local train. Most folks lived at least two and a half hours away from their workplaces.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>His destination arrived, and a sputtering human river ejected itself out of the train. After so much time positioning in awkward angles, it was</span>
  <em>
    <span> tough</span>
  </em>
  <span> to surrender himself to the uneasy flow which went</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Step</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>       Lurch</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>                 Push </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>                          Swear.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He walked towards the overbridge which spanned above a six lane road. Today was one of the days he had to try hardest not to push himself off. His pace slowed as he took in the grey cone of rushing yellow lights, narrowing away as his eyes saw farther afield.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The eyes allowed themselves to shed a tear, a prelude to the pregnant grey sky which was about to rain. His foot protested in pain.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He hailed an auto and reached the unwelcoming doorstep of his apartment. A pile of dirty laundry and a heap of unwashed dishes prowled behind the door.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He opened the door and dumped his bag on the floor. He made his way towards the dishes he had promised to wash in the morning but could never wake up early enough to do so.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Working for long hours as a junior developer in a corporate firm sapped all of his energy. Washing dishes usually gave him a semblance of comfortable routine, but today the </span>
  <em>
    <span>unease</span>
  </em>
  <span> was palpable. </span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>A sharp pain made itself felt in his throat and he let out a sob. A choking sob punctuated with ugly tears. He continued washing the dishes, tears carving tracks down his face.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Aman often forgot himself when he experienced strong negative emotions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The crying Aman was someone else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Aman who his boyfriend broke up with over </span>
  <em>
    <span>text </span>
  </em>
  <span>was somebody else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Aman who had no friends even after living in this hilariously overpopulous city for a whole year was somebody else. </span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The actual Aman was washing dishes, and he worked long hours in a corporate firm as a junior developer.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m tired of loving you. Don’t talk to me anymore. I am blocking your number.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>These words came to him over text in the middle of a workday, over a month ago. </span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He cradled his head in his hands. He wouldn’t find closure. Not in this lifetime.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He loaded dirty laundry into the washing machine.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The sky unloads its burden. It started raining and Aman looked out of the window with big brownglass eyes. </span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>It rains for more than two hours and the gullies convert into small rivulets. A small pink ball, a child’s shoe and a plastic bag drifted in the fiercely rushing water. City debris looked a little different from small town debris.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought about his ex-boyfriend. They had dated casually for over seven months. </span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Images rush into his head. </span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He had forced Aman into having sex. After the first time, there hadn’t been many more occasions, because he did not take the time in preparation and always left Aman with a burning sting. The number of dates they had (he could count on one hand) were formal, distant affairs. Aman had made him a playlist and gotten ridiculed for fifteen minutes for his musical taste.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Aman hadn't met such an emotionally distant person in all his life. </span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to call his mother, but there were only so many times you could answer to ‘beta khana khaya?’ and ‘aaj office me kya hua?’. Both of them weren’t good at talking over the phone.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He locked up his front door and ventured outside wearing a black hoodie (The only currently clean piece of clothing that he owned). He didn’t plan on looking like a fugitive, and explaining black hoodies at midnight to a middle class neighbourhood full of nosy uncles and aunties was tough. </span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The rubber soles squelched in mud and groaned over gravel. Suspiciously slippery moss green stones lurked for unsuspecting pedestrians. </span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>A few cars rushed past. </span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>With hands stuck firmly inside pockets, he walked towards the corner of a large park. It looked decidedly different from it’s early evening, child-friendly hours. The trees suddenly were of a different shape and the curves of the swing seats looked uncomfortably sensuous. </span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>This corner of the park had six or seven men, lazily striding with a confidence that came after living in this area for a long time. </span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He could see a couple of boys seated on a bench, playing a multiplayer game on their phones. Their screens lit up blue against the yellow streetlight.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Their shoulders gently scraped, as their heads bowed closer to each other. Over half of the bench was empty yet these two sat closely together. A few other men were sprawled over swings, slides and seesaws. Always in pairs.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Aman was the only person who had come in alone. Or so he thought.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He noticed one man’s battered, dusty pink sneakers.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He could feel that something was </span>
  <em>
    <span>off</span>
  </em>
  <span> about this place. There was something different about encountering so many men together with such a casual disregard of social distance. Hands encroached over jeans pockets, hair, elbows and shoulders.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The dusty pink sneakers walked towards him. Aman grazed his eyes upward. </span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He was tall and graceful. The bump in his neck bobbed up and down. His face was long, oval and had a straight nose with a silver nose ring. The yellow light cast a shadow and split his lips diagonally down the centre into </span>
  <em>
    <span>darker </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>lighter.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello!” Aman freezes after looking at his long eyelashes. </span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Arre tumse hi baat kar raha hoon.” (</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hey I’m talking to you!)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He waved his hands in front of Aman.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey…” He answers nervously.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Toh, idhar kaise aaye? Pata nahi kya, police tumhe pakad legi?” He looks at him with wide eyes. His palm covers the lower half of his face</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>How did you come in here? Police roam the streets at this time.)</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Idhar police ghoomti hai?” Aman’s eyes widened in shock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Police? Where?)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haan, lekin pichle saal September se idhar police nahi aa rahi hai.” He looks expectantly at Aman, waiting for him to catch a reference to something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, the police do roam about, but they have stopped since September last year.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” His face lengthens because Aman did not catch it.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Khair, mera sawaal… Idhar kyu aaye ho?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Well, about my question… why are you here?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pata nahi, aise hi.” The man raises his eyebrow. He instantly became ten times more attractive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t know, just because.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lag toh nahi raha, Devdas.” He winks. Aman cracks a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Doesn’t look that way to me…)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh…” He stretches out the awkward silence into something comfortable. Aman notices a man wrap his hands around another’s waist and both walk towards the parking lot nearby. His unease grew.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mera break up ho gaya.” Aman blurts. The regret hits him like a wave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>I had a break up.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Accha, isiliye dair raat ko sheher ke chakkar kaat rahe ho. Waise agar problem na ho toh puch sakta hoon ki kya hua?” He looks genuinely curious. Aman hoped and prayed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Alright, that is why you're walking circles around this place at midnight. If there's no problem, may I ask what happened?)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Agar main bataun to yeh mere haath-paer tod dega. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(If I reveal the reasons then I’m going to get beaten up.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Aman braces himself for a session of grammatical gender gymnastics. In Hindi.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh… Wo mujhme itne interested nahi thhe. Waise bhi ek mahine se zyada ho gaya hai.” He shrugs it off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Eh… They weren’t interested in me.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ex ko itni izzat?” He smiles. The sky starts pouring again with a vengeance.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bhaag, mai chhaata nahi laaya!” The man clutches Aman’s hand and rushes toward a rusted gazebo. All the other men scatter away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Run! I don’t have an umbrella!)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>They reach the gazebo with damp hair and bright eyes. The suddenness of the moment passes and their hands disengage. Aman felt a residual tingle.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Aman stares unblinkingly at the pouring rain. He could feel eyes on him. </span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The rain barely lasts for five minutes. Not enough time to cut through this awkwardness.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Waise tumhara naam kya hai?” Aman asks as he exits the gazebo, stepping on wet grass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>By the way, what’s your name?)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Naam jaan kar kya karoge?” He replies, sounding hilariously </span>
  <em>
    <span>filmi. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(What’s in a name?)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“</span>
  </em>
  <span>Waise, yaha September se police nahi aai kyun ki dhaara teen-sau-satattar hatt gaya hai. Jai ho Supreme Court ki!” He says with an awkward, yet knowing smile. Aman’s cheeks set themselves on fire. He leans closer to Aman.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hmm, the police haven’t been here since September because Section 377 got struck down. All hail the Supreme Court!)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The group of men who stuck close to each other in pairs made sense to him. Now he was certain that telling him about his ex </span>
  <em>
    <span>boyfriend </span>
  </em>
  <span>wouldn’t earn him a broken rib. Aman visibly lets go of the tension in his body.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mujhe tumhara number mil sakta hai kya?” He asks sheepishly, his earlier confidence fading.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Can I get your number?)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm, agar kismat hui toh phir milenge.” Aman reflects the man’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>filmi </span>
  </em>
  <span>style of speaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>If luck will have it, we shall meet again.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Accha to mai chalta hoon.” Aman takes his leave awkwardly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Okay then, I’ll be leaving.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Accha to hum chalte hain!” He bursts out in song (loud enough to wake up a whole neighbourhood), bringing a smile on Aman’s face. Aman joins in. </span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Phir kab miloge?”</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jab tum kahoge..”</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aadhi raat ko?”</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haan, haan aadhi raat ko.” He winks at Aman. Such an appropriate song.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kahan…?” Aman asks with a raised eyebrow.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wahi… jahan koi, aata jaata nahi...” His voice fades out.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Both of them depart. Aman glances longingly at his pink sneakers as they disappear.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Aman can’t stop thinking about the man as he walks towards his apartment. We wouldn’t mind losing sleep for such an adorable person like him. </span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Who burst into song in the middle of conversation.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He could have gone back to the park because it was a Saturday night. He did not because he didn’t know what he would do if he met that man again. Who wore his heart on his sleeve. Whose outlines were the sharpest in this blurry landscape where everybody blended in like chameleons of a concrete jungle. </span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Aman was rather certain that he had found a friend.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The week passes by in a blur and Aman almost regrets not giving his number to the man. </span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Aman’s breath died in his throat when he caught a glimpse of him on the local train. Their eyes skipped stones upon the pool of acknowledgement, both not wanting to accept each other’s presence in the same space.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>His feet walked themselves to the park. As if he didn’t have a will anymore when it came to this place and its surreal environment. By and large he had now figured out that the place was frequented by men looking to romance other men, late at night. Romance wasn’t exactly on his mind but he wanted to meet him. Aman was starved for company. A black cat looked at him with shining eyes. </span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Today there weren’t many people around. He could spy two men quite far away.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Living alone for such a long time took its toll. He bent down to pet the cat, a soft piece of darkness, with a fluffy white tail. The cat glanced upwards with shining green eyes and a pink nose.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well met, meri jaan!” The man announces from behind. The cat runs away with a screech.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Well met, my dear!)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oye!” Aman stands up and almost slaps him. The greeting goes unnoticed.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit, pata nahi tha ki you’re a cat person…” He tries to escape Aman’s wrath.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Billi toh tuney bhagaa di na.” He looked visibly miffed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>You chased the cat away…)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Accha, sorry for that, lekin kahi aur chalega kya?” He asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Okay, I’m sorry for that, should we go somewhere else?)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kyun? Idhar kya problem hai?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why? What’s the problem here?)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm, legend has it, ki yaha koi bhi ladka dusri baar aata hai toh single wapas nahi jaata. Aur mujhe nahi lag raha ki tera hook up ka koi mood hai. Nahi to tu billiyon ke peeche nahi bhaagta.” He says in a conspiratorial whisper, which turns into soft laughter. Aman blushes fiercely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hmm, legend has it that no guy who’s come here twice leaves without a hook up. And I don’t think that is on your mind, otherwise you wouldn’t have been chasing cats.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“KIdhar jaane ka plan hai? Should I expect a chainsaw? Or knives? Or guns? Mera qatl kaise karoge?” Aman replies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Where do you plan on going? Should I expect a chainsaw? Knives? Guns? How do you plan on murdering me?)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Drama na kar. Sahi jagah hi lekar jaaunga. Meanwhile, apna naam, Kartik Singh.” He extends a hand towards Aman. Now he could finally put a name to this face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t be dramatic. I’ll take you to a good place. Meanwhile, Kartik Singh’s the name.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Aman felt his heart clench when their hands met. This touch felt more human than any other touch he’s had for the past year. So much that he’s ready to follow a questionable stranger to a questionable destination.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Kartik. The war god. Such an ill-fitting name for this benign person. Aman would rather associate him with the peacock than the ghastly war instruments of this particular deity.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Aman says his name and both set off towards the other side of the park, away from the front which bordered a parking lot and housing complexes. </span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>This side of the park looked shady. The buildings occupied all the available space in haphazard ways, leaving the narrowest of gullies to pass through, which were glistening after the afternoon rain. The area with scantily lit and dingy shop fronts announced various goods of questionable quality.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Aman wonders how these two neighbourhoods, basically stuck to each other could be so different. While this one fought for space, sunlight and a dry patch, the other one had so much of these wealths that it was almost obscene to compare the two.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Kartik makes his way towards a squat building, which was in relatively better health than the others in its surroundings.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tum idhar rehte ho?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>You live here?)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haan.” He grabs Aman’s hand and climbs a floor. Kartik bent his head at the grey low ceiling of the staircase, lit by a solitary incandescent bulb. The staircase smelt monsoon stale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The narrow, bulb lit corridor had two tiny apartments facing each other. Kartik took his keys out and wrestled with the ancient looking door.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Aman noticed a line of very big, rather black ants drawn on the wall beside his door, in various shapes, sizes and levels of artistic skill. One person had probably started it as a joke and everybody felt obligated to contribute to this beautification project.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He followed the line of ants to the end. And as always, someone (very horny) had drawn a dick and a pair of tits.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>A fluffy, white damp patch was present below the line of ants.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook these images off his head. </span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“I welcome thee to my humble abode.” Kartik raises his arm in a flourish.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The room looked spacious from the inside, because there were very few </span>
  <em>
    <span>things</span>
  </em>
  <span>. There was a tiny bathroom in one corner, a cornered platform with a stove and a bed under a window in another. A few large plastic boxes housed books, clothes and other sundries.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Kartik looked different in white light. His features lost that wild edge they had in yellow light. He looks more homely, and Aman takes in once more at how handsome he actually is. He becomes fixated on his nose ring.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Waise mujhe idhar kyu laaye?” He asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why did you bring me in here?)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm, kaha tha na, koi ladka udhar single wapas nahi jaata…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>I told you that no guy leaves that place without a hook up…)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oye, mujhe clearly samjha.” Aman can figure out what the outline of the whole matter is, but he wants Kartik to illuminate upon the dynamics of that place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Explain it to me clearly.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Accha, dhyan se sunna. Uss park me ladke jinko ladke pasand hai ghumte hai. Hook up karne ke liye. Waise to yeh Grindr ka zamaana hai, lekin kisi tarha se wo park abhi bhi raat ko popular hai.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Okay, listen carefully. Men who plan on dating other men roam around late at night in that park. It’s the era of Grindr, but that park is popular even today.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Aman’s eyes widen for a second and he takes in that information. He never had encountered concepts like these before.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay…matlab... maine aisa pehle kahi nahi dekha. Mai jaha se hoon, wahan ladka aur ladki kabhi dost nahi ho sakte aur do ladke dost se zyada kuch nahi.” His voice fades out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Okay… I’ve never encountered any place like this before. Where I come from, a guy and a girl can never be friends and two guys can be nothing more.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, lekin yeh sirf tera culture nahi hai. Har jagah yahi hota hai bro. Woh to humey apne liye jagah aur waqt dono churana padta hai, baaki duniya se duur.” Kartik replies and Aman catches a rare moment of sensitivity in Kartik’s usually pompous words.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, but this is not your culture alone. It’s the same everywhere. And in the midst of that, it’s us who have to steal time and space for ourselves away from the rest of the world.) </span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Naye aaye ho kya? Usually sabko iss area ke baare me pata hai.” Kartik changes the topic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Are you new to this place? Usually most of us know about this place.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haan, ek saal hi hua, aur job me itna busy tha ki aaj pehli baar idhar aa paya.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, It’s only been a year since I’ve been in Mumbai. I was so caught up in work that I could come here for the first time today.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Kartik sits cross legged on the bed. Aman sits down beside him, closer than usual. By now Aman had figured out that Kartik was interested in dating other men, most probably him, otherwise he wouldn’t have brought Aman to his house. But he doesn’t know what he wants to do with that piece of information. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fixing loneliness with a hook up does </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> work out well. He doesn’t know how much of himself he is ready to trust Kartik with. For now, </span>
  <em>
    <span>friend </span>
  </em>
  <span>seems to be a good option. He eases himself into Kartik’s company.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Toh, kidhar job karte ho?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>So, where do you work?)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Junior software developer hoon. Mediocre engineering college se pass kiya hai.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m a junior software developer. Graduated from a mediocre engineering college.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Arre science student lagta hai… Superiority complex to nahi hai na?” Kartik nudges his elbow at Aman with a playful smile. That action shifts them closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hmm… we have a science student here. Do you have a superiority complex?)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tch, engineering karke ghanta kuch ukhaad liya. Waise tum kya karte ho?” Aman scoffs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Tch, as if studying engineering in this country from a mediocre college has any real merit. Anyway, what do you do?)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm, batana thoda mushkil hai. Officially mai ek indie publisher ki editorial department me kaam karta hu, par mujhe bahut kuch dekhna padta hai.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hmm, it’s hard to explain. Officially I work in the editorial department of an indie publisher, but I have to oversee a lot.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Matlab, tere yaha layoffs ho gaye kya?” Aman looks worried.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>What do you mean? There’s been layoffs at your place?)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haan, kuch aisa hi. Staff bahut kam hai. Apparently, in this age of bread and circuses, indie publishers sabse pehle maut ke ghat utarte hain. Apna press bhi thoda controversial material print karta hai, toh out of business jaane ka risk zyada hai.” Kartik sounds increasingly passionate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, something like that. We’re getting by with very less staff. Apparently, indie publishers are the first to go out of business in this age of bread and circuses. Our press also has a taste for controversy, so we have an increased risk for going out of business.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>They continue talking for an hour longer. At a certain point, the conversation shifts to the many books stored haphazard in plastic boxes. Aman notices that they’re all pirated, printed on cheap paper with bleeding ink. Kartik explains that beside their publishing house, another smaller press operated whose job was to print cheap versions of very popular and very unpopular </span>
  <em>
    <span>(read controversial or pornographic)</span>
  </em>
  <span> books. </span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Both businesses turned a blind eye at each other, and had an uncomfortable symbiotic relationship. Books were often exchanged between the two and benefits divided in unfair ways. Kartik knew many of the people in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>other </span>
  </em>
  <span>press personally.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>While talking, Kartik shifts closer to Aman. Aman was the kind of person who listened absorbingly. After a very long time, Kartik felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>heard </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Otherwise most people grudged you barely a glance. The conversation shifts from workplaces, to daily routines, to pet peeves. The memory of Aman scrunching his nose in disgust (How could someone look so cute?) at the mention of </span>
  <em>
    <span>hair on the soap </span>
  </em>
  <span>ingrained itself into his mind. </span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Kartik finishes a rant against </span>
  <em>
    <span>big </span>
  </em>
  <span>publishers and how they were so hesitant to publish political non-fiction when Aman decides to go back home.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Theek hai Kartik, chalta hun. Aur haan, mera number le lo.” </span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Both of them get up from the bed after exchanging phone numbers. Kartik notices that he’s quite a bit taller than Aman. He gives Aman a parting hug and his heart fills with yellow warmth. </span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Kartik gets this irredeemable urge to kiss Aman, when he looks up at him with his bright eyes.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>So, being the impulsive idiot he is, He captures Aman’s plump lips in a kiss.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>And for Aman, a sonorous, ominous minor note rang in his chest and ears when Kartik kissed him. He pushed him away. He did not want this. He stood like a pillar, senses stultified.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The warmth in Kartik's chest thickened to a septic yellow.</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p><br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Sweet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is the conclusion of the two shot. Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Aman stood there and lost track of time. Kartik panicked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Awkward ho gaya na? I’m so sorry… I read it wrong.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m so sorry for making things awkward… I read it wrong.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>These words shake Aman from his stupor. He decides to leave. He twists the doorknob.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ruko, abhi mat jao. Please. Trust me I won’t make a move ever again. I honestly enjoyed your company. Pata tha, sirf doosri mulaqat hai lekin phir bhi maine aisa kiya...” His voice peters out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please don’t go now… Trust me, I won’t make a move ever again. I honestly enjoyed your company. I should have known…)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman looks at the sincerity in Kartik’s eyes and decides to trust him, once again. He sits down on the bed, on the corner farthest from Kartik, trying to make sense of the sudden frigidity pervading the atmosphere. Aman hoped that Kartik wouldn’t take advantage of his trust. Meanwhile Kartik disappeared into the tiny bathroom for a long while.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oye kutte aadhi raat ko phone kyu kiya?” Her groggy voice projects painfully to Kartik’s ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why did you call me in the middle of the night, bastard?)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Abhi batane ka time nahi hai, tu laptop aur Anjana ko lekar idhar aa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t have the time to explain, come to my place with Anjana and your laptop.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kyu saaley? Neend kharab karke chain nahi mila kya?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>And why the fuck would I do that?)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey Devika, you know that you owe me one. Ravi ko bhul gayi kya?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Hey Devika, you know that you owe me one. You forgot Ravi?)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ab bhaisaab blackmail par utar aaye... Tera blackmail worthy material jo mere paas hai, uske baare me sunega na to agle dus saalon tak mere paer padte rehna…” She threatened Kartik.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hmm, now it’s come down to blackmail… If I start narrating all that blackmail material I have with me about you, forget about living a respectable life for the next ten years.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Arre gadey murdey ukhaadne ki bhi limit hoti hai yaar. Please. Baad mei samjhaunga. Abhi bas idhar aa jana. Right now. Ehsaan yaad rahega.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hey there is a limit to how much dirt you can dig up on me. Please, I’ll explain later. Right now just come over to my place. I’ll be grateful.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aww, mera baby bheek maang raha hai… Yaad rakhna, mai free mei koi kaam nahi karti.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Aww, my baby is pleading… Remember, I don’t do shit for free.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Haan haan, ab idhar aa sister…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, yes. Now come over, sister.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Marr jaa, haraamkhor!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Die in hell, bastard!)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fifteen or so minutes later, Devika and Anjana arrive at Kartik’s front door. He ushers them in, </span>
  <em>
    <span>embarrassment</span>
  </em>
  <span> written clearly across his face. Devika spies a short man, rather unassuming-looking by his facial features, sitting on Kartik’s bed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lack of sleep often stole insight from the best of people, but Devika could figure out that something was wrong between the two men. She could guess that Anjana and her were called to defuse the awkwardness between them. That left a sour taste in her mouth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anjana looked over at Kartik, he already looked painfully apologetic. This was going to be fun.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nice to meet you, Aman!” Anjana gives him a sweet smile. Then she looks at Kartik, with her smile a thousand times </span>
  <em>
    <span>saccharine</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was scary. Aman’s shy smile in reply destroyed the missile of sheer </span>
  <em>
    <span>terror </span>
  </em>
  <span>that Anjana had aimed at Kartik.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman gets to know about the two women, who were apparently Kartik’s friends. He had grown up with Devika, while Anjana had arrived in this city four years ago to work here as a teacher in an elementary school. Both lived together with a few other women in a rented flat nearer to Aman’s neighbourhood.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Pata nahi, Kartik ki kitni phat gayi thi jab hum dono Sharma ji ke bete ko uski cycle se giraa kar bhaagey.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Don’t you know that Kartik positively pissed his pants when we pushed the bully off his cycle…)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aur bachpan me uska sabse bada project chocolate ke pedh ugaana thha.” Devika begins telling embarrassing stories about Kartik.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(And his biggest project during childhood was to grow trees of chocolate.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Abey iske liye tereko nahi bulaya thha.” Kartik gives an exasperated facepalm.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(I did not call you here for this shit.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman notices that Anjana is rather quiet, much like him. Both of them began a conversation when Devika and Kartik started arguing about whether maggi tasted better with ketchup. Aman shakes his head at the blasphemy. And of course Kartik was the one with the unpopular opinion.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yaar tere saare aashiq tujhe chhod kar chaley jayenge agar unhe pata chalega ki tu maggi mei ketchup daal kar khaata hai.” Devika cringes in disgust.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(All your boyfriends will abandon you if they get to know that you eat instant noodles with ketchup.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Haan, aur main bataun ki tu three plus five bhi calculator me daal kar check karti hai? Jab doodh wale ko paise dene hote hai?” Devika blushes in embarrassment. Aman lets out a soft laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Yes, and should I tell everyone that you double check three plus five on the calculator? When you have to pay the milkman?”)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Inka toh chalta rahega. I swear, jab bhi yeh dono milte hai na, mujhe lagta hai ki koi doosre ke sarr ka har ek baal ukhaad kar hi dum lega.” Anjana turns towards Aman. He doesn’t feel awkward any more. His shoulders release the built up tension.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(I swear, the quarrels of these two can go on forever. I’m afraid that one of them is going to pull the others’ hair out by the roots one day.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Both of them get talking and Aman finds a lot of common ground. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Koi difference nahi hai idhar aur baaki jagah me. Bas idhar anonymity ka pardaa accha milta hai. Usi ke liye apni family ko chhod kar aayi hun. Abhi tak unhe nahi pata ki mai idhar hoon.” She sounds a little cynical. Aman can’t help but agree.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(There's no difference here and in other places. Only the cover of anonymity is a saving grace. I'm here for that. I've left my family, and they still don't know of my whereabouts.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Family ko kyu chhoda?” His family might be a collection of crackpots, but he can’t imagine leaving them, never to talk again. He is careful to not sound too judgemental.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Why did you leave your family?)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Arre shaadi karne ke liye force kar rahe thhe. Mujhe nahi karni thhi, ye to acchi baat hai ki college se graduate kar liya thha, yaha aai toh naukri mil gayi. Now I’m happy living here, teaching a bunch of primary school kids.” Aman caught the glint of sadness in her eyes, but he knew that she was a woman who guarded her own happiness fiercely. He saw a kindred spirit in her.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(They were forcing me to marry. I did not want to. It's a good thing that I had gotten my college degree. I got a job here and I'm happy teaching a bunch of primary school kids.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Chalo bahut serious baatey ho gayi, Amitabh Bachchan ki </span>
  <em>
    <span>Deewaar </span>
  </em>
  <span>kisey dekhni hai?” Devika creeps up from behind, bearing four bottles of beer. Apparently both of them had given up on bickering. Kartik’s eyes visibly lit up at the mention of ‘Amitabh Bachchan’.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Enough of serious talks. Who wants to watch Amitabh Bachchan's Deewaar?)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sun climbed the horizon and glowed orange, just as Amitabh Bachchan died in Nirupa Roy’s arms.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman walked towards his place after the movie ended. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yet again, the park had a different aura in the hours where it was hard to decide whether it was day or night.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sky lit up a pastel blue, with a mild orange sun in the east. At this time, the park had a few women. Short haired, long haired, boyish, girlish, all sorts of women, or so he guessed. He wondered if ‘gender’ gave this place a free pass for a while at this time. He wondered if ‘women’ was enough to describe the people gathered there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wandered around the edges of the park for a quarter of an hour. The sleep clouding his eyes was forgotten. The trees and swing sets were caught between their daytime and nighttime avatars. Caught in some between land, this indecision would last for a few hours at the most.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The yellow lights of the park were dimmed in anticipation of the sunshine. The trees and flowers softly shone with raindrops and bluish-white residual moonlight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He did not enter because he somehow </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> that he was not welcome here. This time did not belong to his species. In these hours, Shiva became Shivani, Indra became Indrani and Vishnu became Vaishnavi, but Shakti remained Shakti. And people here, there, in between, everywhere and nowhere celebrated. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>People lingered close to each other, bound by friendship, love and laughter. Women held other womens’ hands and embraced. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He figured that women probably weren’t comfortable using this park at night, so they claimed the park as theirs around this time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman felt like an intruder in this </span>
  <em>
    <span>anjuman</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He paced quickly to his apartment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He crashed and woke up late in the afternoon. Kartik, Devika and Anjana messed up his sleep schedule, but he wasn’t cranky at all. This weekend went surprisingly well. He had a feeling that he had finally found friends in this place. Especially Anjana, who was the voice of reason between Devika’s and Kartik’s endless bickering.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After both of them arrived, the awkwardness between Kartik and Aman had melted away. When the four of them were together, Kartik had completely switched gears, from the handsome, sultry man to the hilarious dork who squabbled with Devika, much like how he used to squabble with his own sister Rajni. And an Amitabh Bachchan film was always a good icebreaker.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He checks his phone to find a few texts from Kartik.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry for all that happened yesterday night.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Are you free next Saturday, early evening-ish? Don’t worry, it’s not a date. I seriously want to be friends with you. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>After that he had sent a meme. Aman had to admit, it was quite hilarious.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Meanwhile, are you the ‘laugh emoji’ kind, the ‘hahaha’ kind, the ‘hehehe’ kind or the ‘lol’ kind?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That made Aman smile. There </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be limits to the extent of Kartik’s overthinking.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just before sending those texts at ten AM, he had spent an hour crying about Aman with Devika. And how he misread everything spectacularly. Granted, that was his usual routine, to bring people to his place after meeting them once or twice in the park, but he knew that Aman wasn’t a casual hookup. He was genuinely intrigued by Aman’s shy charm. To the point that he freaking wanted to </span>
  <em>
    <span>serenade </span>
  </em>
  <span>him at midnight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Mai commitment ke liye taiyaar hoon." He said with heart eyes when Devika asked him about his intentions.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(I'm ready for commitment.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Devika let out a loud guffaw at Kartik’s plight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman was about to burst a valve due to his nervousness. Kartik hadn’t said anything about the date.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Arey yeh date nahi hai!</span>
  </em>
  <span> He reprimanded himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sometime later, Kartik arrived at his doorstep looking handsome in a dorky way. He wore a black polka dotted collared shirt. Aman felt a little underconfident in his simple mustard tee.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Toh, chalein?” He asks with a smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Both of them set off in the early evening hours and this time, the people around them, the rushing cars, and the sky with fat grey clouds looked reassuring.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grey Mumbai monsoons had a way of blurring everything, erasing convictions and magnifying misery, but this rainy afternoon was full of life.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Late at night, while Kartik looked like a mythical creature, now he seemed to completely blend in against the fragile glass pillar like buildings. The solidity and humanness of him was firmly established, and Aman felt at ease with the whirlwind called ‘Kartik Singh’ that had suddenly swept through his life.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After a couple of months, Aman and Kartik had been on quite a few ‘dates’. Sometimes only with the two of them, other times they went with Devika and Anjana, whenever they could spare some time. Aman honestly began to look forward to the weekend. Earlier it only used to be an excuse for him to work from home. His so-called ‘productivity’ took a hit but he couldn’t care less.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He grew close to Anjana, and now he counted her as a firm friend. Both of them could now talk for a long time over the phone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He reminisced about the time both of them had spent together on the beach, and on the Marine Drive. The whole road was full of swanky hotels, cafes and shops of big name brands. Throughout the years, a lot had changed but late evenings on Marine Drive never ran out of lovers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman looked at the curved skyline, extending ahead of a large stretch of sea. Buildings of all kinds, conical, rectangular, weirdly-shaped, twin-towered, huge-spired, had yellow lights, white lights, red lights and pink lights. The whole scene extending into the horizon flowed carelessly into the sea below, like blood on water. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik whispered words into Aman’s ears from behind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jab mai chhota thha na, har Holi ke din sochta thha ki yeh ameer logon ki buildings itni colourful ho sakti hai toh inki gaadiyan hamesha black ya white kyun hoti hai? Sochta ki kisi din idhar aaunga aur saari gaadiyon ko rang lagaakar bhaag jaunga.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(When i was a kid, on the days of Holi, I used to think that if these rich people had buildings so colourful, why were their cars always black or white? I would dream that one day I would come here, apply colour over each car and run away.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His innocent words said in a rasping whisper sent shivers down Aman’s spine. Kartik’s hand on his shoulder also wasn’t doing much to help in this matter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman's shoulders quivered. Kartik came closer and it made every hair on Aman's neck stand up on end.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>...</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Over these past few weeks, Aman got used to Kartik's touches. It no longer felt like his heart was about to leap right out of his chest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman realised that Kartik expressed a lot using his touch. So much that it felt like a language of its own.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His warm hugs, which felt like the sole anchor attaching him to this world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The arm he often put over his shoulder, which felt like warm reassurance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hands, which often danced over Aman's in a shy gesture of affection. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His soft kisses on the forehead, when Aman went back home from Kartik's place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>HIs even softer kisses all over Aman’s lips, cheeks and neck, during which Aman found it really hard to keep his eyes open.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Those touches made him reconsider whether the definition of 'home' was his cold apartment or with Kartik.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik often stared at him with heavy-lidded eyes like he wanted to kiss him deeply, but was afraid of getting rejected.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Honestly, Aman wanted to do the same. After two months of getting to know him, Aman experienced increasing attraction. He wanted to show all of himself and see all of Kartik.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He'd be damned if he wasn't in love with him already. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hello Aman! Kaise aaye?” Kartik greets him just as he enters the small apartment. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Hello Aman! What brings you here?)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nahi pata, aise hi.” He says flippantly, a reference to their first meeting in the park.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Don’t know, just because.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Accha, welcome! And bienvenue!” The smile on Kartik’s face grew wider. It meant that Aman was comfortable enough to enter his place </span>
  <em>
    <span>without</span>
  </em>
  <span> a reason. They walked together towards the bed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dekh idhar kaun aaya…” He points towards the water-spotted concrete ledge below the window. Aman glances at the visitor.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Look, we have a visitor…)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a cat. This time it had a white body with a fluffy black tail, a mirror image of the one he had met in the park. Kartik opened the window and bent forward to pet the kitten. The cat jerked away, bared its teeth and hissed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Arre aise nahi karte. Ruko main dikhata hoon.” Aman said fondly, looking over at Kartik. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Hey it’s not done like that. Let me show you.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Go ahead, sir ji. Hum bhi dekhte hai ki Bombay ki billi ko aap kaise pattaatey hai.” He winked at Aman who blushed. Aman wondered if the ‘Bombay ki billi’ in question was the actual cat or Kartik, with the way he looked at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Please go ahead, sir. Even I’ll see how you manage to earn the affections of a Bombay cat.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He extended a finger towards the cat, in front of its eyes. It hadn’t fully grown into an adult, and still retained some of the kitten-like curiosity. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Its yellow-grey eyes eagerly followed the playful movements of Aman’s fingers. The cat swiped a paw forward, Aman pulled away just before he got a nasty scratch. This game continued and in the midst of it, Aman gave it a rub on the neck. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The cat relaxed into Aman’s affection, and allowed him to pet its back and head. The petting continued and it entered the house. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jaldi, koi cardboard ki box aur newspaper hai kya?” Aman said after picking the cat in his arms and cuddling it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik was in awe. Aman was a certified cat whisperer. He wondered how many more of Aman’s quirks he had yet to discover.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yaar yeh billi mujhe competition de rahi hai. Socha ki </span>
  <em>
    <span>tum</span>
  </em>
  <span> milne aaye ho, lekin isko bhi abhi hi aana tha.” Kartik laid special emphasis on ‘you’. Aman’s gentle smile grew fonder at that emphasis.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Oh boy, now I’ve got a cat to compete with. I thought that </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>you</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> came to meet me, but now I have to make time for this...)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They found a cardboard box and newspaper for the cat. It left them after an hour, grudging them some of its affection.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kitni dramebaaz billi hai...” Kartik said under his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(What a dramatic cat…)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But now I have all of your undivided attention!” Aman let out a laugh as Kartik wrapped his arms around him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They talked, and the conversation meandered. Aman ranted about his superiors who overworked and underpaid him. Sometimes he really envied Kartik’s laid-back workplace.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He laid his head on Kartik’s lap gently, and glanced at the </span>
  <em>
    <span>bare</span>
  </em>
  <span> affection in his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kartik found his affection reflected in Aman’s eyes. He knew that if they could have sat together in a garden, he would spend entire afternoons weaving white grass flowers into Aman’s hair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean you’ve never read a book naked?” Kartik laughed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Arre nahi padha na… aise ajeebo-gareeb shauk sirf tere hi hai.” Aman blushed fiercely and got up from Kartik’s lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(I told you I have never done that… only you could have such weird fancies like these.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Try karna hai kya?” Kartik aims a devious look at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(You want to try?)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eh...nahi.” Aman felt embarrassed to the pits of his stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Eh...no.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please… phir kabhi nahi bolunga.” Kartik pouted and Aman was precariously close to giving in.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Please, I won’t ask ever again.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please…?” Kartik knew his impulsive nature was going to get him killed one day, but kept indulging it like a fool.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik’s pout turned downright dangerous. Aman saw it and immediately labelled it as </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> face which could sell a refrigerator to an eskimo. Or death metal to Indian parents. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman knew he stood no chance. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Theek hai, lekin dobaara nahi karenge.” He lets out with a squeak.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(It’s okay, but we’re not trying this ever again.)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik grabbed a book from a plastic container. It had to be poetry, he wasn’t in the mood for reading prose. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> Kartik looked way too excited, like a child. He whips off his clothes immediately, standing in a pair of boxers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman lost his bearings for a moment when he saw Kartik. He became fixated on Kartik’s long legs which had a thin layer of hair all over. He shook his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shed his own clothes bashfully, leaving his boxers on and looked downward. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Itni sharm kis baat ki? Thoda comfortable ho jao, I’m not implying anything you’re not okay with… But it’s certainly okay if you don’t want to do this.” Kartik puts his doubts to rest, he lifts Aman’s chin and glances into his eyes. With undiluted affection.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(What are you ashamed of? I want you to be comfortable, I’m not implying anything you’re not okay with…)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes I want to do this. Ab bistar par baithe kya?” Aman relaxed in Kartik’s arms. He was ready. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Yes I want to do this. Should we lay down on the bed?)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They laid down on Kartik’s bed and Aman looked at the purple cover of the book. He rested his head on Kartik’s chest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik began by reading some nonsense poetry, and both of them quivered with suppressed laughter. After each wave of rumbling giggles, Kartik would gently stroke Aman’s cheekbones.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Half an hour passed, and Aman’s legs tangled with Kartik. He almost forgot that he was in his boxers. For the first time, someone had made him feel so comfortable in his own skin. He felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>at peace</span>
  </em>
  <span>. With his own body, with his life and with himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The next one is a little different. It’s called ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sounds Like Pearls’.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Kartik brought him out of his reverie.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, go on… Kisne likhi hai?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maya Angelou ne.” Kartik readied himself for the narration. It was a really short poem, but he wanted to convey multitudes by its means to Aman.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sounds</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>  Like pearls</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Roll off your tongue</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>  To grace this eager ebon ear.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Doubt and fear,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>  Ungainly things</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>With blushings</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>  Disappear.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik let out one of the softest smiles when he finished. He wanted to erase his own doubts about entering relationships. He wanted to love Aman fiercely. He wanted to wake up with him and greet him with a kiss every morning. Until they both grew tired of each other. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But only if Aman agreed. His love was a gift, and Kartik could not, </span>
  <em>
    <span>will not</span>
  </em>
  <span> steal it away from him. Kartik offered his love to Aman, and looked at him with the utmost vulnerability.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman was </span>
  <em>
    <span>floored</span>
  </em>
  <span> after being at the receiving end of such a magnanimous amount of trust. He got up and stared directly into Kartik’s eyes, with all the love he could gather.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knew that the interminable lines, curves and tangents crowding his mind, now were in the process of finding a </span>
  <em>
    <span>start</span>
  </em>
  <span> and a </span>
  <em>
    <span>finish</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The atmosphere changed. It went from relaxed to unequivocally </span>
  <em>
    <span>heady</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He ventured closer and kissed him softly. On the forehead, cheeks and finally on the lips. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik let out a soft sigh. He deepened the kiss, drinking in from Aman’s lips. He could feel Aman’s warm chest against his own. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sat up cross legged and invited Aman into his lap. He positioned himself in Kartik’s lap, and could feel his arms on his waist. He wanted this, he wanted this </span>
  <em>
    <span>so bad</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik held the back of Aman’s head and kissed him deeply with closed eyes. His tongue entered Aman’s warm mouth. Aman felt gooseflesh all over his body when Kartik kissed him with such passion.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He moved his arms over Kartik’s back and felt his shifting muscles. Aman moaned into Kartik’s mouth after he bit his lips. Aman thrust his hardening dick into Kartik’s thighs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kartik moaned in reply.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They made love that night.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After shifting the mattress to the ground because the bedposts would positively break under the weight of all that thrusting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aman woke up the next morning in Kartik’s arms. He was in disbelief. That sex could feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>so good</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He said a silent ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck you’</span>
  </em>
  <span> to his ex boyfriend, who had made such a pleasurable activity into a goddamn chore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He rose and dressed to leave for his own apartment. Meanwhile Kartik woke up and immediately started peppering his neck and cheeks with soft kisses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Aman opened the door, a makeout session later. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oye dekh kaun aaya hai…” He said after picking up the kitten.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It seemed like three entities, two people and a cat found a home this morning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>...</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay, somebody please explain why do I suck so much at writing kissing scenes?<br/>And I am so sorry for littering this piece with self inserts. Maya Angelou, I'm in love with your poetry but I'm so sorry.<br/>I planned on writing a sex scene at the end of this, but then realised it would derail the flow of the story completely. Though do tell me if you want that sex scene written down.<br/>Supplying me with gangaajal after I'm done will be your sole responsibility. ;)</p><p>I finished writing this way earlier than I thought. So whoop!<br/>Have a good day/night!<br/>Kudos and comments make my day!<br/>-Adv</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, I was listening to The Local Train while writing this, and both of their albums Aalas Ks Pedh (The Tree of Laziness) and Vaaqif (Acquiesce) occupy huge corners of my heart. Playlist for this fic</p><p>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CBv2N7_I6sA"> Yeh ZIndagi Hai (This is Life), The Local Train </a>
  <br/>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-gKBXwXBUbk"> Dilnawaz (Beloved), The Local Train </a>
</p><p>Section 377 was a part of the Indian Penal Code, which made homosexuality a non-bailable offence. It was struck down on 6th September 2018. Though arrests under this law were rare, it was used to justify police brutality against the LGBTQ community.</p><p>And grammatical gender gymnastics are an uncomfortable part of my life hehe. Being non-binary, Bengali, and having lived in way too many places all over India (all with their own specific ways of speaking Hindi), I don't even know how to make sense of it anymore.<br/>(Pardon the self insert!)</p><p>I am stuck once again, writing the next piece for the Aman's Family series. Somebody help me! (*Cries in unresolved writer's block)<br/>(For Monamoni, Tinevisce and Rasnak, I felt SO weird gifting the Shankar Tripathi work or the wedding drabble work to you, so here you go!) (*smiles shyly*)</p><p>The next part of this two shot will be up in three or four days, so stay tuned! <br/>-Adv</p></blockquote></div></div>
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